Bottom of the Bottle
by Britt30
Summary: Sometimes, Halt gets tired. When he gets tired, he tries to drown his worries and his friends come to the rescue. Three-shot.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Crowley

Crowley stepped into the bar and carefully shut the door behind him, trying to keep out as much of the driving wind and rain as he could. He lowered his hood and ran a hand through his hair as he glanced around. The quiet murmur that pervaded the tavern was a stark juxtaposition to the raging storm outside. About half the tables were filled and the roaring fire at the front did wonders, already starting to dry his soaking cloak. The barkeep caught his eye and subtlety nodded to the figure at the dark end of the bar. Crowley nodded his thanks and made his way over.

He sighed. Seven empty mugs surrounded the man, an eighth halfway gone in his hand. Must be pretty bad this year.

The commander perched on the seat next to him and couldn't help but look at the man sadly. He hated seeing his friend like this.

"Halt."

The man grunted and glanced in his general direction.

"Whaddya want Crowley," he growled.

"Oh lots of things," the commander mused. "A bigger house, bigger budget for the corps… for you to stop drinking for the night."

Another grunt.

"Don't always get what we want, do we." He downed the rest of his glass and waved for another. The barkeep brought it over, but Crowley swiped it before Halt could take it.

"Thank you good sir," he told the barkeep, who wisely nodded and returned to work.

"Gimme that Crowley," Halt said, making a pathetic grab for it. Crowley simply shifted it to his other hand, moving the glass farther away from the already drunk Ranger.

"You aren't messing around tonight, are you? What is this, hard ale?" he asked and took an experimental sniff.

"Crowley, please." Crowley's heart broke. Halt shouldn't sound that broken, that desperate.

"You've had enough Halt," he replied gently. "What was it this time?"

He didn't answer for a moment, head now buried in his hands, elbows on the counter. He sniffled.

"It was Will," he said finally. "Wasn't feeling too good today anyway. Heart didn't feel right, tight 'r something. He mentioned… an old mission? I don't know. Next thing I knew..." He gestured helplessly at the empty mugs surrounding him. Crowley lay a supportive hand on his shoulder which he gratefully leaned into before succumbing altogether to face Crowley and rest his forehead on his friend's shoulder.

"'M tired Crowley," he slurred.

"I know," he replied softly.

"Tired of losin'- almost losin'- people. Almost losin' myself, you," he added. "'M tired of carin'," he said finally and sighed, such a world weary sound.

"So am I," Crowley said gently, running a hand down the back of his friend's head. "But I don't regret it. And I don't think you do either."

"No," Halt said, voice catching slightly.

They stayed like that for a while, Halt staring emptily into space while Crowley simply grounded him, a firm hand tracing circles on his back.

Eventually, Halt blinked and lifted his head slightly.

"You ready to go?" Crowley asked. Halt nodded. The redhead silently waved the bartender over and paid his friend's tab before helping him to his feet. He kept a firm arm around his shoulder as he led him from the warmth of the establishment out into the freshly washed world.

The rain had let up, leaving a deeply cleansing earthy smell hanging in the air along with a scattering of mist. The sun's last rays lit the way for them as they stumbled their way back to the castle; Halt could stay there for the night, no need for Will to see him like this.

They took the back way in, avoiding as many people as possible and it was a relief when they finally arrived at the right room.

Crowley helped his friend out his cloak and boots and into his bed, where he was out in seconds. Nothing like a good nap to shake off a bout of existential dread.

Pauline walked in just as he was heading out. Her eyes grew sad, yet so filled with compassion as she looked at her sleeping husband.

"Was it bad this year?" she asked him.

"Pretty bad," he whispered. "But not the worst. He'll be fine. He always is." She nodded and stood there for a moment, musing.

"Thank you Crowley. I'm not sure if Halt's ever told you, but he appreciates you doing this for him."

"I don't mind," Crowley said truthfully. "He's my best friend. Least I can do is be there for him. G'night Pauline."

"Goodnight. And thank you again."

He nodded and gave her a slight smile before taking his leave back to his own room.

He flung his cloak on a chair with contempt and kicked his boots off in frustration before sitting heavily on his bed, head in hands, leaning forward. He clasped his hands together in front of his mouth and tried to hold back the tears, wishing he could just do _more._

Caring was exhausting.

But he didn't regret it.

 **A/N: Hope you enjoyed/cried.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Will

It had been three years since Crowley died, four since he'd had to drag Halt out of a bar. If you asked Halt, he'd say he was overdue.

The bar was bustling, normal for a Friday night and the fierce wind drove in more patrons than normal.

One such patron wore a mottled green cloak and looked surprisingly young for the aged look in his eyes. He scanned the room, quickly spotting the man he was looking for hunched over at the counter.

Will moved carefully through the room and pulled up a seat next to him.

Halt was on his ninth drink. Beer, by the smell of it. He didn't react when Will sat down, but continued to stare straight ahead, as if the bottles on the shelf might hold the answer.

"Halt," Will said.

Halt turned to look at him and his eyebrow raised in disbelief. He stared at Will for a long moment before turning back to his drink, whatever little light he'd had in his eyes, now snuffed out.

"I thought you were-"

"I know."

Silence. Just the murmuring of patrons around them, laughter and chatter and the clinking of cutlery. Halt spoke.

"Why aren't I dead yet?" he said, voice choked slightly by emotion and drink. "I've done more than enough to deserve it," he continued. "It shoulda been me, not Crowley." He took another swig while Will figured out what to say. What can you say to that?

"Well, I'm glad you're alive," Will said quietly. Halt's lips twitched and his eyes grew wet.

"You shouldn't see me like this," he murmured. "I'm a mess."

"We're all a mess Halt. There's no shame in it."

"No shame in nine bottles of beer? 'Doubt it," he gruffed and downed the rest of his glass. He raised his hand to order another one, but Will gently guided it down before the bartender could see.

"Halt, let's go home."

"What home?" he asked, no, demanded. "Huh? My home is gone Will! Has been for three years! It's not as easy as it looks!" he cried.

Though the outburst was sudden, Will knew what he meant. It wasn't easy to keep your composure, to move on, to pretend you had when your heart was still grieving and everyone else had seemed to recover. Halt's eyes screamed in a silent cry for help, empathy, sympathy, _something._ Someone to confide and comfort him. And that job now fell to Will.

Feeling incredibly nervous and that this was in no way his place, Will grabbed his mentor's shoulders and gently guided him into a hug. Halt didn't resist, so Will allowed himself to relax slightly.

"I know it's hard Halt, I _know._ But you are not alone in this. You do have a home and it's with me and Alyss and Pauline. It's okay to miss Crowley; he was a part of your home. But you are not alone Halt.

"Take your time. We'll be here when you're ready."

Halt sniffled ever so quietly and it took Will a minute to realize that his mentor was crying. He felt tears sting his own eyes as he thought of everything his mentor had done for him. From rescuing him as a child to finding him in Skandia to helping him be the man he was today.

"It's okay," he murmured.

Halt eventually pulled back, rubbing his eyes not so discreetly. He'd take time to be embarrassed later, but for now…

"Let's… let's go home," he slurred.

Will watched Halt get up as he paid, ready to lend a hand if necessary and carefully led his mentor out of the establishment and into the chill fall air, reminding them to be grateful for their cloaks as they stumbled back to the castle. Pauline and Alyss were out on a joint courier mission, so it was up to Will to make sure Halt got into bed instead of staring listlessly into the fire until he fell over.

Before long, Halt was snoring away and Will quietly made a pot of coffee before sitting in an armchair and resting quietly, the only noises being his mentor's breathing and the howl of the wind outside. He ended up falling asleep in the chair and when he woke up, it was morning. Halt was gone and there was a fresh pot of coffee. When he saw him later that day, he gave him a brief clap on the shoulder, but didn't mention the previous night.

It was the least he could do.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Halt

The door slammed shut behind Halt as he entered the familiar bar. The night was dark, clouds covering the sliver of moon that was left in the sky. It was long past the time for patrons to have left. A serving girl was sweeping and stacking chairs on tables, but a single man still sat at the bar.

Halt made his way over silently and pulled up a stool next to him. A single tankard sat in his hand, but it was obvious he had had more. They sat there in silence for a few minutes until the man spoke.

"She's gone Halt."

"I know," he whispered hoarsely.

"She," he gulped. "She was my _everything_."

"I know."

"I loved her so, so much and now she's just… gone."

"I know," he repeated, head drooping slightly under his apprentice's grief. Another moment of silence where Will twisted his cup around in his hands, staring in distress and exhaustion at the concoction inside it.

"We were expecting," he whispered, voice tight with unshed tears.

Halt sighed, but didn't say anything. Heart heavy and hurting, he ordered a drink.

 **A/N: Sometimes less is more, no?**

 **Thanks for reading.**


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